


Without A Prayer

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stoic lump of muscle never saw Clint, but he was willing to kill Natasha with his bare hands to protect his boss, and Natasha had to escape without any of the intel SHIELD wanted. It was an unmitigated <i>disaster.</i></p><p>They had to do <i>something</i> while hiding out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without A Prayer

Ultimately, it didn't matter whose fault it was. It could have been the mark knowing too much about SHIELD's interest to start with, the blonde look hadn't been convincing enough on Natasha, the bodyguard was too fucking paranoid even without provocation. It didn't matter. The stoic lump of muscle never saw Clint, but he was willing to kill Natasha with his bare hands to protect his boss, and Natasha had to escape without any of the intel SHIELD wanted. It was an unmitigated _disaster._

They had no time to even report back on the mission's failure to SHIELD intermediaries. They had to hide out in an empty apartment that Clint had found while bored up on the rooftop. Natasha picked open the lock with two bobby pins and a brooch clasp. Clint was silently impressed by her ingenuity as he kept watch, then they slipped inside and locked the door behind them. It was a shabby sort of place, and a search of the premises revealed a can of soup, two boxes of pasta noodles, a bottle of vodka in the freezer and a molding hunk of cheese in the fridge. "Feels like home, eh, Clint?" Natasha snarked, taking the bottle out of the freezer and shaking it at him.

Clint rolled his eyes, not rising to the bait. He was also a little distracted by the curve of breast and sway of hip that the dress she was wearing accentuated. It had been a deliberate choice on her part, and he knew better, but he was also only human. "Good thing, too," he replied, not rising to the bait. "We might be here a while."

"Grab some glasses, then. Might as well settle in."

They split the bottle, at first drinking in silence. Clint removed the brooch from one of the dress straps, toying with the sparkly bauble. Natasha eyed him, not saying anything as the strap slid down her shoulder. She simply reached forward for the vodka bottle, the front of her dress swinging loose so that Clint could see the slope of her breasts and the rise of a rosy nipple. He traced her movement with his eyes, licking his lips unconsciously. Natasha lofted an eyebrow at him, then slid down the other strap with a deliberate movement.

"What are you doing?" he asked, voice steady.

"Aren't we compromised already?" she asked, standing. The dress slid down her torso and then pooled at her feet in a whisper of navy silk. She hadn't worn a bra, and stood in front of Clint with nothing more than a wispy scrap of lace for underwear and navy thigh high stockings. "Is there some kind of patron saint of spies we should be praying to right now?" she continued, stepping out of the puddled silk. She gracefully sank to her knees in front of Clint, lips curling into a slight smile.

"Ain't got the words," he replied, reaching to cup her breasts in his hands. They were perfect, and he was suddenly very grateful that this mission had gone tits up. Literally. Otherwise the two of them would have continued to dance around their unspoken devotion to each other. Now they had the excuse of the vodka, even if they were both still sober.

"Then you better put your mouth to better use."

He knelt down and pulled one peaked nipple into his mouth, his rough hands sliding down her smooth torso to cup her ass. Clint lightly scratched the skin of each perfect globe as she wound her hands into his hair and held him tightly at her chest. As if he had any intention of stopping. Clint suckled her as if his life depended on it, as if the swipe of his tongue across her nipple was a prayer for salvation.

The fragile lace shredded beneath his fingers, leaving her core exposed to him. He traced the red curls there, then slid a finger into her up to the first joint. Natasha was growing wet, and he slid his finger further in before adding another. Slowly he pumped them into her, slick with her growing need. Clint switched breasts and then added his thumb against her clit, which made her emit a slight whining sound. Fascinated, he did it again. Natasha threw her head back, a strangled moan caught behind her bitten lips. Moving faster made her moan a little louder, so Clint kept up the pace and sucked harder at her breast.

Natasha came with a soft cry, her muscles softening but not yet relaxing. She was used to using sex as a weapon, after all. Clint decided then and there to make it his life's mission to get her to collapse in his arms after orgasm.

With this in mind, he kept pushing his fingers into her, and used his other hand to pull her head down. He seized her mouth with his, swallowing her cries. She raked welts into his scalp, but it was a good kind of pain. Her body already primed, it was easier for her to tighten around his fingers as she approached another orgasm. Clint gave it to her, still relentlessly stroking her clit, waiting for a third to hit her. When that happened, he pulled her to the floor and put his mouth on her, lapping up her juices and thrusting his tongue into her wet slit as he used his slick fingers to rub her clit. Natasha writhed beneath his mouth, thighs quivering. She was starting to pant, and it sounded almost like his name on her lips.

It was only at the fourth orgasm that he unzipped his fly and yanked his pants down. She welcomed him into her body, guiding his cock where she wanted him and grabbing his sides. She locked her legs around him, heels pushing into his ass, telling him without words to fuck her hard and fast, drive his cock into her as deeply as he could, make her come again. There was a needy desperation in Natasha's eyes, in the way she held Clint, in the arch of her throat as she threw her head back and let her breasts jut upward.

Clint palmed one and fucked into her with reckless abandon, just the way he had dreamed of doing for far longer than he should have. He grunted with the effort to keep up that pace, to thrust until he bottomed out inside of her, until the keening moans indicated she was starting to coast toward another peak. He wanted to collapse, to have her flip him onto his back and ride him hard, but there was a vulnerability in her eyes that he hadn't expected to see. This was _her,_ not a persona she was hiding behind, not the cool professional he worked with. This was _Natasha,_ the bare bones of her, soft and needy beneath him, reaching for him and holding on as tightly as she could.

Focusing on her face, Clint kept up the frenetic pace until her body spasmed beneath his and she tightened around his cock so much that he couldn't hold back any longer. He shuddered, spilling into her a few moments after she stilled. "Jesus," he muttered, falling forward onto his hands. He looked into her serene face and realized that this was as close to blissful and relaxed that he had ever seen her.

"We're going to be stuck here for a while," she murmured softly, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw with her fingertips.

"Yeah." He didn't quite see where this was going yet.

"You shredded the only pair of underwear I currently own, and that dress is a little big in the top so it slides down too easily. You know," she remarked with a sly smile, "I'll be walking around here with nothing on."

Clint shifted his weight so he could run one hand along a stockinged thigh. "You'll have these," he told her with a smirk. "And you'll just have to wear me to keep warm."

"I can deal with that," she replied, then pulled him down for another kiss.


End file.
